


Weredragon

by okapi



Series: HC SVNT DRACONES [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dragons, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Lestrade, Fem!Sherlock, Genderswap, Gore, Interspecies Sex, John Kills and Eats A Lot of Bad Guys, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Child Trafficking/Prostitution, References to Dog Fighting and Animal Cruelty, Rimming, Vaginal Sex, Vigilante Violence, Vigilantism, Werewolves, weredragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's got the blues about her upcoming birthday. A midnight stroll by the light of a blood moon changes everything.</p><p>Established Fem!Johnlock transforming to Weredragon!John/human!Sherlock. Vigilante violence and gore as John slakes her bloodlust. Inspired by the Bad Dragon <a href="http://bad-dragon.com/products">Were-able</a> line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a-cumberbatch-of-cookies (tishy19)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tishy19/gifts).



“Spa weekend? Manicures, massages, facials.”

“No.”

“Tropical cruise?”

“No.”

“Ski holiday?”

“When did you learn to ski?”

“Hmm. Low-key, local. There’s something at the observatory that night. It will be a ‘blood moon.’”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, but the SOCOs seem pretty excited about it.”

“No.”

“ _John_ , you don’t want to celebrate your birthday at all?!”

“No, _Greg_ , I don’t. Forget about it.”

Lestrade ignored her. “We can do what we always do...get pissed at the pub,” she said with little enthusiasm. “Or maybe...a _sex holiday_ with _Sherlock_.”

John laughed Lestrade’s not-disguised-at-all disgusted tone. Then she sighed. “No offense to you or Sherlock, even those two options sound _tedious_.” She enunciated the final word in Sherlock’s posh accent.

“Christ, you are in a state. It’s a nice round number. You like nice round numbers.”

John huffed.

“Think about all you’ve accomplished...”

John ran a hand through the back of her hair and hummed.

“And all you have to look forward to...”

“Like what?” John asked quickly.

“Umm...menopause?”

“Thank you very much.”

“You’re greying gracefully. Distinguished, really. Not like some of us who were doing touch-ups in primary school.”

“You don’t dye your hair.”

“Ha, ha, HA! Alright, I shan’t press, but don’t wallow. It isn’t good for your complexion...and at _your_ age...time is _marching across your face_!”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Pints whenever.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

“Case.”

Sherlock wrapped the blue scarf around her neck. John didn’t look up from her book.

“I’m going to sit this one out, if it’s all the same.”

The front door closed. John said to the empty flat, “Guess it _is_ all the same.” She went to the kitchen and poured herself a whiskey and nursed it for hours.

The flat was dark when John tossed the dregs of her drink down the kitchen drain. She ran upstairs and tucked the Browning in the back of her jeans. She grabbed her jacket and keys and flew down the stairs. But when her feet touched pavement, she looked left and right.

“Where to go? Does it matter?”

She walked, hands in pockets, head down, lost in her thoughts. Finally, she sat on a park bench. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, she rubbed her face with two hands. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Already solved?”

Sherlock emerged from the darkness and sat beside her.

“It was a five.”

John glanced at Sherlock’s lower half and shook her head.

“Not in that skirt and those boots, it wasn’t.” One corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched.

“A three, but it was a five to Lestrade. John...”

John let unspoken fears fall between her feet.

_I was injured in the last case, Sherlock. It was nothing, but it hurt. The small stuff never used to hurt. Not like that._

_One day, I will not be quick enough or tough enough or strong enough to protect you, and then we will both be hurt. Badly._

_You don’t need to eat. You don’t need to sleep. The forces that plague mortals like me don’t seem to touch you. You will be operating at full capacity for a long, long time, and, one day, I...rightly so...will be left behind._

_That day will break my heart._

_That day is coming, Sherlock._

Silence grew like an invisible wall, brick by brick, between them. Finally, John fell back on the universal language of Baker Street.

“Cuppa?”

Sherlock gave a curt nod.

As they rose, John looked up at the night sky. “‘As ever I _see_ but do not _observe_.’ Been walking around all night and didn’t notice. Blood moon.”

“Total lunar eclipse. Reflected light off the lunar surface first passes through Earth's atmosphere and is scattered, stripping out all colours in the spectrum but red.”

John faced Sherlock with raised eyebrows.

Sherlock smiled. “Gaps needn’t persist. John...” She made to close the space between them, but John widened her stride and looked at her watch.

“Christ, it’s almost midnight. Let’s go home.”

“The Browning. May I?”

John ignored Sherlock’s out-stretched hand. “No,” she replied, frowning. _Christ, it’s already started. I can still handle my own weapon, thank you._ “Two women out after dark alone...never know what kinds of bloodthirsty creatures lurk in the night.” _I can still protect you. I can. For a little while longer._

In two strides, Sherlock was by John’s side. They walked in silence.

Suddenly, John felt strange, her entire body off-kilter. Alarms rang in her head.

_Christ, I’m having a stroke. FAST._

_Face..._

John forced a smile. “Sherlock, is my smile symmetrical?”

“Yes.”

_Arms..._

John raised both her arms. Neither drifted, but both appeared to be swelling and sprouting additional hair.

_Visual disturbances, but not a stroke. Something pressing on the brain...need a stint...drain the fluid..._

Sherlock stared, frozen where she stood.

“Sherlock! Call an ambulance!”

“You’re not ill, John. You’re _changing_.”

John felt her body expand. In moments, she was eye-level with Sherlock and then taller than her. Her centre of balance shifted, and she tipped forward onto her hands.

Sherlock caught the Browning as it fell.

John curled her head downwards and surveyed her body. Her clothes had disappeared to reveal a muscular, sinewy form covered in thick, coarse, blonde fur. Her hands and feet were flat with sharp claws. She twisted her head. She had sprouted a scaly tail that wagged, wings that flapped, and...perhaps most improbable...a cock that hung between her back legs.

John raised her head. On four legs, she was eye-level with Sherlock. She heard Sherlock’s breathing, saw the sheen of perspiration on her brow, and smelled the blood pulsing in her veins.

John rounded her lips and tongue in a single word, but it came out a bark.

**_Sherlock!_ **

“I can hear you, John. You’ve transformed into a dragon.”

**_What kind of dragon has paws?_ **

John’s tail lashed behind her as she lifted each front foot.

“A hybrid. The tail and wings are definitely dragon, but the rest is...wolf.”

**_Like werewolf?_ **

Sherlock nodded.

**_Impossible._ **

“Highly improbable, but nevertheless...”

**_I wonder if I can..._ **

John turned her head and inhaled. Then she released a stream of fire and smoke from her lips, setting a nearby copse aflame.

 **_Holy Mary_ ** _!_

John fanned her wings and smothered the blaze.

John breathed deeply. Her mind reeled at the sensory onslaught. She smelled everything, every bit of rubbish that was in the bin by the side of the walk, every trace element on Sherlock’s clothes and skin. She saw everything, a passing cab blocks away, bare tree limbs swaying in the wind. She looked up at the blood moon, distinguishing craters and shadows on its surface. She heard everything, every vehicle and machine, every creature, bird and squirrel and human, in the environs.

**_Is this what it’s like to be you? To observe everything. At once._ **

Sherlock gave her a faint smile.

“At the moment, your senses have the advantage, John.”

John moved closer to Sherlock, sniffing. Her quivering nose progressed from boots to the Belstaff to loosely-bound hair.

**_You smell wonderful. Mate._ **

Sherlock smile grew broader. John licked Sherlock's neck and felt her quickening pulse and rising body temperature.

“Are you...that is...do you desire gold?” asked Sherlock, hesitatingly. She rested her right hand on the lapel of the Belstaff. John detected the tang of metal through wool. She stopped her movements and folded her wings onto her back. She sat on her hind legs and tilted her head to one side in a thoughtful pose.

**_Gold? You mean treasure. Like a hoard? A dragon’s hoard._ **

Sherlock gave a weak nod. John snorted; smoke filled the air.

 ** _You scorn my well-worn wardrobe, my ancient computer, my second-hand...everything . You’re holding..._** She circled behind Sherlock and licked at the Browning through the Belstaff ** _...the one possession I value. How can you imagine that—even as a dragon— I would fancy piles of gold?_** More snorting. John pushed the smoke away from Sherlock with her wings.

**_No. I’m not interested in gold._ **

“What _do_ you want, John?”

The first answer was easy.

**_You and..._ **

John gaze up the red moon, nostrils flared. She resisted the urge to howl.

**_...blood._ **

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, so walk me through this,” said Lestrade, licking the tip of her pen and scribbling on a notepad. “Instead of going home to John per my instruction...”

“Yes,” said Sherlock testily, fingering the small orange blanket that was draped around her shoulders.

“...you tracked down these three gentlemen...” Lestrade walked across the warehouse floor and, with the tip of her boot, nudged the only unconscious body that had not yet been removed by paramedics. “...who were, and on this point both I and the courts will probably agree, responsible for the murders earlier tonight...how exactly? Did you track them, I mean?”

“I followed their scent from the original crime scene.”

“Right, hmmm, like a bloodhound, sniffing the ground, all the way across London...”

Sherlock huffed. “I used a process called detection, I’m not sure that you’re familiar with it, involves gathering clues...”

“Okay, moving on, Miss Smart Arse then...tracking them and their merchandise to this particular warehouse among the myriad here...you disabled all the lights with a home-made smoke bomb...”

“Yes...thus, disorienting them...”

“And, then, single-handedly, in your A-line and boots, proceeded to disarm and render unconscious _seven_ men.”

“My proficiency in [baritsu](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baritsu) is well-documented, Detective Inspector.”

“Hmmm...and that bloke over there, with the slashes in his arm, I suppose you made those with a karate chop!”

“Pocket knife,” replied Sherlock.

“A pocket knife, right, right, tell me, when did you start carrying a knife? I thought you said weapons made for too much stupid.”

“Well, John’s not here, is she? I had to have some back-up.”

“Right, which brings us back to the beginning. John at home, alone, on her birthday. I am going to overlook this Hollywood rendition of events because you just caught me three exceedingly nasty characters who’ve eluded us for months. And now I can pin a couple of murders on them as well. Not to mention the fact that we’ll recover more than a million pounds of narcotics and illegal merchandise, quite possibly arms, which will make the anti-terrorist folks piss themselves with glee. We would have caught them, eventually, but I concede, probably not this quickly without your assistance. You may go, but, one, I expect you to give a full, more plausible statement in the morning and, two, I expect you to go _home_ and take care of your girlfriend. She’s upset about...you know...”

“Why’s she upset? Happens every year.” Sherlock threw off the blanket.

“She’s getting older, Sherlock. Some reassurance and a nice shag would go a long way.”

Sherlock sneered, “Reassurance. Not my division, Detective Inspector.”

Lestrade sighed and closed the notepad.

“Just go home. And thank you.”

Sherlock slipped under the yellow tape without reply. When she was out of sight of the swarms of officers, she doubled-back to a warehouse some distance away. She found John pacing back and forth along the corrugated wall, ears twitching.

Tiny slivers of moonlight filtered in from the warehouse door.

Though she had caught most of the exchange, John still asked.

**_How’d it go?_ **

“Perfectly. “

 ** _Yeah?_**   John’s shoulders relaxed. **_Good. Feels good, Sherlock._** Her tail wagged. **_This is what I want, what I need._**

“You were extraordinary, John.”

**_You, too. As always._ **

John’s nose registered the change first. Before she heard the increase in Sherlock’s respirations, before she saw the dilation in mercurial grey eyes, she smelled a faint musk, instantly recognizable. Her own body stirred in response.

**_Sherlock. I smell you. Turns you on, does it? I never realized how much. Or is it just the fur suit?_ **

“Is this what it’s like to be you, John? To be observed. Everywhere. At once. And have your secrets exposed?”

**_Yes. Welcome to my world._ **

John’s mouth opened and curled upwards in a snarling grin. She dragged her tongue, slowly, purposefully, across her jagged teeth and approached Sherlock with predatory grace. She gave Sherlock’s neck a quick, exploratory lick, savouring the taste of desire-laced sweat. Sherlock carded her fingers in the soft fur around John’s head and began to scratch. John emitted a low, appreciative growl. Her cock grew heavy between her legs.

 ** _Sherlock, it’s your choice...always..._** John licked Sherlock’s neck again; this time her wide tongue lingered as it passed ** _...but I would very much like to mate you...here...now._**

Sherlock’s voice was low and husky. “Even as a mythical creature, you are still you. Always with the leave, consent, permission. The answer’s always yes, John.”

**_Tonight’s different._ **

Sherlock raked her eyes down John’s body. “Obviously.” John locked eyes with her.

**_Don’t misunderstand me, Sherlock. Tonight. You. Are. Mine._ **

John felt the tremor that ran through Sherlock’s frame and the slight buckle of her knees. She breathed in air thick with Sherlock’s desire. Her tongue licked exposed skin, following Sherlock’s fingers as they unbuttoned blouse and unfastened bra. John bathed each breast with a wet, warm tongue. Sherlock’s hands returned to John’s fur, scratching and stroking. John nuzzled the front of Sherlock’s skirt.

**_More, Sherlock._ **

Sherlock unzipped the side of her skirt and stepped out of it.

**_Lie down._ **

Sherlock removed the Belstaff and draped it on the ground. Then she leaned back on her elbows, knees bent, legs slightly open. John’s briefly lamented the cold, hard concrete at her lover’s back. Her concern died at the sight of black knickers and the heady aroma that emanated from them.

John licked the lace, thoroughly wetting it, to the music of Sherlock’s moans. Then, she pulled her lips back, and with the skill of a surgeon, cut the fabric from Sherlock’s body with sharp canines.

John looked up. Sherlock was watching, transfixed. John kept her teeth bared.

**_A concession to...expediency. You won’t be needing them tonight. I anticipate frequent...and perhaps urgent...couplings._ **

“ _John_.” Sherlock gripped John’s fur tightly.

John licked Sherlock’s cheek.

**_Any Red Riding Hood fantasy you care to share?_ **

“Not until this moment. _Please_.”

**_Open your hand._ **

John let saliva drop from her own mouth and pool in Sherlock’s palm. Sherlock reached down and began to stroke John’s cock.

**_So good, my gorgeous Mate. Once more._ **

They repeated the process. Sherlock’s strokes, from base to head, grew faster. John covered Sherlock’s body with her own. Sherlock took John’s cock in two hands and guided the tip to her entrance. John pushed inside Sherlock slowly, scanning her lover’s face for every subtle change.

**_So good, so good._ **

When John was fully sheathed, Sherlock groaned. John’s tail swished; her wings fluttered.

Sherlock’s head lolled against the ground. “John, John, John.”

John lowered her head and licked her entire expanse of skin from cleavage to lower jaw as she thrust. Sherlock raised her knees and splayed her legs, curling her hips toward John.

 ** _That’s it. Take more of me, my girl._** **_My gorgeous, gorgeous girl. Mine._**

John’s movements grew faster and more frantic. She came with a roar of fire and smoke, pumping—what seem even to her lust-addled mind—copious amounts of seed into Sherlock.

Sherlock whimpered when John pulled out.

**_Sit up, Love._ **

Sherlock pushed up onto her hands. John thrust her snout between Sherlock’s legs and licked. She did not stop licking until she had cleaned Sherlock thoroughly and Sherlock had clamped her thighs around John’s muzzle and screamed her name. Twice. Then John blew hot, slightly smoky breath between Sherlock’s legs.

“Did you just wash and blow-dry my cunt?” asked Sherlock. She collapsed back onto the floor, chuckling.

**_It would be uncomfortable to remain that way for long, and our night is still young._ **

“What now?” asked Sherlock, rolling onto her side.

**_More. More blood. More you. This is just the beginning. Find me some bad guys, Sherlock. Some very bad guys._ **

Sherlock’s eyes wandered while her hands reached for her skirt.

“Homeless network. The sewers.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you all right?”

**_Yes, of course I’m all right._ **

John’s anger boiled to rage. Her tail thrashed.

“Well, you have just killed a man.”

John’s front paws rested on the chest of the dead man. The driver’s door of the van was open.

 ** _I didn’t give him heart disease, Sherlock. I didn’t block..._** John sniffed the man’s chest ** _...four of his coronary arteries, thus predisposing him to fatal myocardial infarction..._**

“When confronted with a creature out of a Grimm’s fairytale.”

**_Plus, he wasn’t a very nice man._ **

“No, no, he wasn’t really, was he?”

 ** _Here’s the plan._** John nodded to the entrance to the sewers. **_I will run them down, further into the sewers..._**

“They’re armed,” Sherlock cautioned.

**_So am I, so to speak, and so are you. You’ll cover me. You get the girls and bring them up here. When you have a signal, call Lestrade and wait until the authorities arrive._ **

“I don’t do victims, John. And I don’t do children. You do victims.”

**_Right now, Sherlock, believe it or not, you are the less menacing figure of the two of us._ **

“John...,” protested Sherlock.

 ** _THERE ARE GIRLS DOWN THERE IN CAGES, SHERLOCK!_** John turned her head to avoid singing Sherlock’s eyebrows and hair. **_I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE NOT A HERO! YOU’RE A PERFORMER, AREN’T YOU? ACT LIKE A HERO! GO DOWN AND LEAD THEM OUT OF THERE!_**

Sherlock shrunk at John’s outburst. “They won’t follow me,” she whined.

**_Reassure them, Sherlock._ **

“’Reassure them, Sherlock,’” she mocked. “What _exactly_ do I say?”

**_You speak a dozen languages. Surely you can manage ‘Everything will be okay’ in one they understand._ **

Sherlock frowned.

**_Or if all else fails, call your sister. Doesn’t she speak more?_ **

The flint in Sherlock’s eyes returned. “After. You,” she hissed.

John barrelled down the tunnel, teeth flashing.

* * *

“John.”

**_Here. It’s safe now._ **

A torch light appeared.

Sherlock gasped.

Not at the bits of bone and scraps of clothing that were scattered on ground.

Sherlock stared at John. John licked her lips instinctively.

_Instinct._

John had given into instinct. She had run down her prey and made her kill. One by one, she had dragged the bodies deep into the belly of the city. Then she feasted on flesh and marrow. Her body feasted the way that her blood had on the terrified screams, on the raw, sweet panic that her mere appearance had evoked in the men. The blood on her muzzle, chest, and front paws was still wet.

**_How are they?_ **

“Safe.” Sherlock’s voice retained a soft quality that made John’s heart melt.

**_Well done, Sherlock. You managed ‘reassurance’ just fine._ **

Sherlock dropped her head and nodded. “I shan’t make a career it, John,” she said quietly.

John snorted.

**_Of course not._ **

“How are _you_?”

John licked her lips again. **_Even if anyone’s looking, they won’t find them down here, not for a long while. Maybe you’ll be called on the case._**

“ _We._ Maybe _we_ ’ll be called.” Sherlock approached John slowly, and even amidst the rotten stench of the tunnel, John smelled her. John’s cock twitched, but she stepped backwards.

 ** _I’m not clean, Sherlock._** John looked at the aftermath spread at her feet. **_I may never be clean again. I liked it far, far too much._**

Sherlock seem not to have heard her. She advanced and John retreated in a slow _paso doble_ until they had turned the corner of the tunnel. Sherlock extinguished the torch, and under cover of darkness, she ran a hand down John’s back from her shoulder to her tail. Then she reached underneath and wrapped her hand around John’s shaft.

“I don’t care.”

John inhaled the scent of Sherlock’s desire. She threw her head back and sent up a heavy dark cloud, which settled around them. John spread her wings wide, shielding Sherlock from the smoke and falling debris.

Then John’s front paws were holding her upright against the tunnel wall, and Sherlock was squatting between her legs, the head of John’s cock in her mouth. Sherlock sucked, gripping the base of John’s cock tightly in two hands. She stilled and allowed John to thrust gently through her hands into her mouth. A steady stream of fire erupted from John’s mouth, scorching the ceiling of the tunnel. John’s body tensed and she pulled quickly out of Sherlock’s mouth. She sprayed her seed on the wall beside Sherlock. Sherlock kept pumping her shaft until the final drop emerged; then she slumped against the wall.

**_Find me a place to wash and we’ll continue._ **


	4. Chapter 4

John climbed the stone steps of the murky pool. She shook her entire body. Sherlock squealed in mock protest at the shower of droplets.

**_Extraordinary. You must know this city better than any human alive. What is this place?_ **

Sherlock was wrapped in a large, white terrycloth towel. She set a long-handled, rough brush and a bar of soap on the edge of the tank.

“Russian bath. Lestrade’s colleagues in the Organised Crime Taskforce closed this facility less than two days ago. No time to completely dismantle it.”

 ** _Thank you for helping me to wash. I feel better. Let’s move to the next one._** John indicated the nearby pool. Sherlock nodded. John trotted to the tank edge and  blew fire over the still water. Steam rose from the surface. She turned back at the top of the steps.

**_Would you care to join me?_ **

Sherlock’s pupils were large black circles as she crawled toward John, allowing the towel to drop behind her. John flicked her tongue.

 ** _You smell amazing, Sherlock. Your scent, your desire has impregnated the vapour, and it’s everywhere. Surrounding me like a thick, wanton fog._** Their heads met, and John sniffed down Sherlock’s body, from cheek to ear to shoulder to waist to hip. Then she turned away quickly and sneezed. **_In contrast, I smell like wet dog._**

Sherlock nodded and then shrugged. “I don’t care. Look at me.” John sat back quickly on her haunches and wagged her tail expectantly. “It isn’t the fur suit, John. I am yours. So utterly yours. I’ve discovered a deeper understanding of the word ‘mate.’ It isn’t just a term of endearment, or a synonym for ‘partner,’ it’s...” Sherlock shook her head vaguely.

 ** _More. I don’t think I realized, either, just how much until tonight. I was so worried about becoming less. Let me show you, Sherlock. Turn around and come down to the water’s edge._** John blew more fire onto the pool.

Sherlock dropped her head and moaned. Still on hands and knees, she turned and faced away from John. Then she crawled slowly backwards until her knees were beneath the water and her hands on the higher step. John covered her body with her own.

**_See how well we fit, Sherlock. As if cut from the same cloth. Not the same, but equals. Parts of a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts._ **

“Synergy.”

 ** _Yes. And the gaps, the parts where we don’t touch, are chances to grow and become more. Not all at once, but day by day._**  John wiggled her hips so that she slotted behind Sherlock neatly. Then ever-so careful of her claws, placed the pads of her front paws on Sherlock’s shoulders and pushed up. **_Feel the weight of me, Sherlock._** Sherlock sighed. Her hair was a damp, mottled mass than John nosed aside to lick at the nape of her neck. **_I’m learning about instincts tonight, too. To trust them more. To recognize them. My instinct to kill for you, to protect you, has been there from the beginning. So has your response to it._**

“Acclimatised to violent...strong moral principle...nerves of steel,” panted Sherlock as John licked down her spine.

 ** _And then watching you eat dim sum like it was foreplay._** John snuck her tongue in the crease of Sherlock’s arse and gave her rim a quick lick.

“ _Oh!_ It was, it was. You touched my lip with your thumb. It was, it was...”

 ** _Earth-shattering?_** The water was just at John’s mouth, and she snuffled in amusement. Her tongue reached into the crevice and lapped eagerly at Sherlock’s puckered hole.

Sherlock swallowed and shook her head absently. “Everything was already shattered, John. I do a spectacular job of that all by myself. You glued the shards back together. Slowly. Not without cuts to yourself.”

 ** _I love you, Sherlock. Touch yourself while I lick._** In minutes, Sherlock’s hollow groans echoed against tile and stone.

“ _John!_ ”

Sherlock’s forearm buckled, and she collapsed into the water with a splash.

**_Sherlock!_ **

Sherlock sputtered and rolled onto her back.

**_Are you okay?_ **

Sherlock reached for the edge of the towel that had dropped and wiped her face.

“Hmm. Perhaps an intermission wouldn’t go amiss?”

**_Rest. Tonight is a marathon, not a sprint._ **

“Obviously.” The arrogant edge to Sherlock’s reply reassured John more than her lover’s smile. Sherlock straightened the towel parallel to the pool edge and laid down on it, her head resting under a curled arm.

John paddled around the pool, happily drowning herself in water and air fragrant with Sherlock’s pleasure. She scampered up and down the steps, occasionally splashing a languid Sherlock with her wings and tail. Sherlock trailed her fingers in the water’s edge and splashed back. John shook herself dry again and settled on the other side of the pool, staring unabashedly at her lover’s naked form.

After some time, John barked. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open. John curled her lip in half-snarl and dragged her tongue across her teeth. She watched the haze in Sherlock’s face morph to readiness. Sherlock pushed up on her forearms as John stalked her from around the pool.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow.

John growled. She approached Sherlock, teeth still bared, spit dripping onto the tiled floor. She hovered just above Sherlock’s shoulder and pressed one single canine to Sherlock’s skin. She dragged it slowly, leaving a tiny red line on the pale canvas. Three small drops of blood emerged. The cut and the blood disappeared with a swipe of John’s tongue.

**_Exhale, Sherlock._ **

John heard the sharp outflow of air. Then she paced backwards and crouched. Sherlock bent her knees and opened her legs. John sprang. She covered Sherlock and swiftly entered her in one graceful movement. Then she thrust. Hard. And quick. And came just as hard and quick. Sherlock’s nails were dug deep in her pelt, her face buried in John’s neck. When their breathing slowed, John licked the top of Sherlock’s head.

**_Let’s get you clean. Intermission’s over. More, Sherlock. More blood, more mating._ **

“God, yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next three hours were a blur. In the end, Sherlock resorted to zip-tying the perpetrators and sending Lestrade photographs of their unconscious bodies and evidence of criminal activity via her mobile. Their couplings got hastier and rougher, in the darkest alleys and rooftop corners, as far away as from CCTV cameras as the city allowed.

They were some distance from Baker Street when John felt the impending shift from night to morning.

**_Let’s go home, Sherlock._ **

They made their way back, travelling as the crow flies, from rooftop to rooftop with Sherlock gripping John’s neck. John spread her wings and soared over the space between buildings.

Suddenly, John stopped.

**_Oh, no, Sherlock. We have to stop. One more and then home. We need to go down._ **

They found a door and crept slowly down flights of stairs. Soon, the walls of the entire building shook with barking. Men’s voices rose in alarm.

**_Dogs._ **

“They smell you.”

John nodded.

 ** _They’ve been trained to fight, tortured to fight, but they won’t hurt you, and they won’t hurt me. I’m the Alpha here, Sherlock._** **_You’re my Mate._**

Sherlock smiled. “Yes, John.” John threw her head back and howled. The barking stopped but the men’s voices grew louder, closer, and angrier.

John made quick work of the two that they met on the stairs. When they reached the last door, Sherlock and John locked eyes. John nodded and Sherlock opened the door quickly, hiding behind it. John entered the room.

There were three dirt pits, ringed with small concrete blocks. The sides of the room were lined with rows and rows of dogs in kennels. A few whimpered.

John stared, and many pairs of eyes stared back. So mesmerized by the scene was John that she didn’t smell the human until it was too late.

“John!”

John roared when the sharp pain seared her side. She twisted on her assailant with a vicious snarl. The bloody knife was raised in the air for a second stab. John lunged for the neck, her claws and teeth ready, when suddenly the knife dropped to the floor, immediately followed by the man.

Sherlock stood in the doorway, trembling. She lowered the Browning.

**_Sherlock!_ **

“He hurt you, John. You’re bleeding.”

John smelled Sherlock’s fear, mixed with the scent of her own spilled blood and that of the crumpled man and the barely-contained excitement of the pack. Her side throbbed with every heaving breath.

The dogs stared motionless at the spectacle. Not a noise, not a bark, not one hollow ping of paws against metal doors.

John’s eyes swept the room; one by one the dogs all lowered their gaze. Some fell to the floor of their kennels, heads on paws.

**_Go to the roof, Sherlock._ **

“John...”

**_GO TO THE ROOF!_ **

Sherlock nodded and backed out of the room.

* * *

The roof was quiet compared to the cacophony down below. Sherlock turned as John pushed through the door.

 ** _Everything’s okay, Sherlock._** John spit something small and metal on the ground. Sherlock picked it up and slipped it in the inside pocket of the Belstaff. **_We need to take it with us. They’ll be able to trace it to the weapon when they find the bodies._** **_I dragged the two others down to the pits. I rallied the pack and then set them all loose. They won’t find much of those animals, the men I mean. Let them die by the swords they so brutally honed. And be consumed with the violence that they cultivated._**

“Sowing and reaping?” mused Sherlock wearily. “Okay, John.” She looked at dried blood caked to John’s side. “Can you heal yourself? Lick the wound closed as with mine at the pool?”

**_We can try. I can’t really reach._ **

Two applications of saliva later, John growled frustratedly.

**_It’s not working, Sherlock. Let’s go home. No stops._ **

“Can you...?”

John scanned the horizon of rooftops.

**_Yeah, I can make it. Hang on._ **


	6. Chapter 6

John looked down at the sutures.

**_The whole night has been a turn-up, Sherlock. I’m usually the one stitching you up._ **

“The novelty of the situation has not escaped me, either.”

**_Well done. You’re a first-rate seamstress._ **

“A most singular fabric.” Sherlock binned the waste and plastic gloves. “John...”

**_Upstairs. If I can make it to my bed, I shan’t move for a long time. I made not be a full-blooded dragon, but I still want to end the night with my Mate in my lair._ **

They laid side-by-side, filling the entire bed. John’s licking was lazy. Sherlock petted John’s belly until the room filled with John's low, satisfied growl. John’s cock stirred but she ignored it, savouring Sherlock’s touch, scent, and warmth alone.

After some time, Sherlock rolled John onto her back. She retrieved a bottle of lubricant from the bedside table and coated John’s semi-hard shaft, which sprang at her attention. Then Sherlock sank down on John’s cock gradually, rocking her hips back and forth and humming. Sitting upright, she cupped her breasts and thumbed her already-pebbled nipples.

**_So lovely, so beautiful. My Mate._ **

Sherlock moved her hands up her neck and piled her hair on her head, old-fashioned pin-up style. She looked down at John through half-lidded eyes.

“Yours, John.”

**_Turn around. Show me that gorgeous arse._ **

Sherlock pulled off John’s cock and turned away from her. She straddled her and sank down anew. Her arse bounced and jiggled as she bobbed up and down.

**_Christ, Sherlock, what you do to me. Come here. Let me lick you one last time before we both collapse._ **

Slipping off, Sherlock moved backwards until John’s tongue reached her rim, and then she leaned forward and took the head of John’s cock in her mouth. John licked and Sherlock sucked until their bodies screamed in concert.

**_Sherlock, Sherlock!_ **

John howled as her seed shot into and then spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth. It splashed back onto her belly and thighs.

**_You wanton, wanton thing. Rut._ **

Sherlock rut frantically against John’s belly. She whimpered when John scraped her teeth against her buttocks. Over and over, John scratched and then erased the scratches with her tongue.

“ _JOHN!_ ”

Sherlock drooped onto her side. She buried her face in the mess of John’s matted fur.

No longer able to resist fatigue, John closed her eyes.

* * *

John felt the shift. She opened her eyes and found herself full-clothed next to Sherlock’s nude, upside down, form. She shed her clothes and resumed her position. Her own body and Sherlock’s were clean; the only physical vestige of the night seemed to be a dark brown scar that ran down John’s side.

Sherlock opened her eyes.

“Wasn’t a dream,” said John in a croaky voice.

“No,” said Sherlock. Her fingers met John’s at the centre of the new scar. They looked at each other.

“I hurt a lot of people last night, Sherlock. Killed them. Ate them. There will be consequences... costs.”

“The biggest cost will be massive investments in upgrades to the metropolitan CCTV system. City-wide outages can’t be allowed to occur so often.”

John shook her head slowly and smiled.

“How did you find having a cock?” asked Sherlock, casually.

John rolled on her back, one hand under her head. She licked her lips. “When it’s in you, it’s fabulous. Otherwise... _meh_. I don’t need to be the Alpha dog.”

“But may I say that you’re resplendent when you are. And should you care to don the mantle again, either privately,” John smiled down at Sherlock, “or professionally, the request would be more than welcome.” Sherlock leaned up and pressed her lips to each of John’s scars with a prayer-like solemnity. Then she rolled off the bed and padded downstairs, returning wrapped in the blue dressing gown. She removed an oatmeal-coloured dressing gown from the wardrobe and tossed in John’s direction. John sat up and slipped it on.

John’s eyebrows reached her hairline when she saw the velvet box. She held her breath.

Sherlock opened the box to reveal two gold rings.

“Now that you have fingers again.... We can be married or not. You can wear it or not. On your finger, on a chain, wherever. Or leave it in the box, next to the Browning. But if you need reassurance,” Sherlock fit one of the rings on her own finger, “you need look no farther than my hand. And should you doubt my....”

Sherlock tilted the second ring so that John could read the inscription.

**I love you. SH**

“We will change; the cases will change. But whether it’s Baker Street and crime-solving or Sussex and bee-keeping, I shan’t leave you behind. From the second day we met, the thought has never occurred. As extraordinary as you were tonight, that’s how extraordinary you are every night, and whether we’re at a crime scene or you’re making tea and binning very important mould cultures...I want you by my side. And my desire...well, that’s no longer a mystery, is it? Happy Birthday, John.” The last was a whisper.

John wiped tears with the back of her hand.

“I love you, Sherlock.” She wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck. They held each other tightly, and then John snuffled, “You know the one disadvantage to weredragon sex?”

They spoke in unison:

“Kissing.”

They fell back against the pillows together, mouths locked.

* * *

“Just as well we’re not celebrating your birthday because I’ll be stuck here doing paperwork until _my_ birthday. What a night for you to stay home and mope! Your wildebeest was on fire! She had my team spread all over the city. I called for reinforcements twice and delegated cases to other divisions. Organised crime, child trafficking...I even had to call Animal Welfare about a nasty dog fighting ring.”

“So that’s why the Belstaff’s covered in fur.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it, John. If I wasn’t sure those days were over, I would have had her pee in a jar. She was possessed, a machine. The final arrest count for the night is... _forty_. That’s a nice round number that you can appreciate.”

John smiled.

“I’m expecting her this morning. A lot of us are expecting her this morning. Statements.”

John cracked Sherlock’s bedroom door and shook her head.

“Tomorrow. She’s asleep. Probably all day.”

“Ha! You shagged her silly, didn’t you? Hope you got as good as you gave—it is your birthday after all.” Pause. “Seriously, are you feeling better? You sound better.”

“Sherlock and I talked. It’s fine; it’s all fine,” said John quickly. “So...speaking of birthdays, why don’t we go somewhere warm and sunny for yours, drink fruity cocktails with tiny umbrellas? Holmes sisters in tow, of course, if they’re interested and available.”

Lestrade squealed. “Oooo! Tropical holiday! Fantastic!”

“I’m on it,” said John.

“Happy Birthday, John!”

John clicked off the phone and extended her hand, studying the ring. “It has been a _most_ memorable birthday,” she said to a snoring Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> For those interested in the Dragon series, there is a plan for a Lestrade one when she and John go on holiday. Might be an enchanted garden, orgy kind of fic. Not sure. And a Moriarty one if I can think of a more detailed plot than just "Moriarty steals the Holmes hoard; havoc ensues."


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